


The Wolf Den

by vampirequeen (damnitlaura)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Fluff, M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation in Bathroom, Stripper Derek, Strippers & Strip Clubs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 17:46:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4755431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/damnitlaura/pseuds/vampirequeen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is meeting up with Scott and the others for the weekend at Rays, a local bar that Stiles has never been to, and it seems will never be to since he got lost, how could he not when his best friend since they meet at the local park sandbox gives directions like a lost 5 yr old. </p><p>Luckily, Stiles happens upon an open establishment that just happens to be a strip club.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wolf Den

**Author's Note:**

> This is all [chibiactionheros](chibiactionhero.tumblr.com) fault. any complains, send them to her.   
> And if you wanna come say ["hi"](gollyderek.tumblr.com)

Stiles looked up from his phone and did a double take of the street he was on. It didn’t match with the directions Scott had sent him along with a  helpful It’s in front of a pet shop.

Instead, Stiles was staring at a shabby looking building with the words Wolf Den flashing over the door in red neon.  What made matters worse was that it looked to be the only open establishment on the street. If Stiles were a lesser man, he would be worried about being mugged as soon as he stepped out of his car.

His phone pinged with a new text notification making Stiles tear his eyes away from the seemingly empty street.

**_SM: Dude where are you? No one wants to start drinking until you get here._ **

Stiles swiped at the screen of his phone and quickly typed out a reply.

_**SS: Whats the name of the bar you guys are at?** _

The reply came almost instantly.

_**SM: Rays. Please tell me you’re almost here Jackson is starting to bitch about everything.** _

Stiles would’ve gone on a rant, starting with the line ‘Jackson can get bent for all I care’ but it would just drag things out, and really he was here to hang out with his friends for the weekend. He wasn’t going to let a minor setback like getting lost mar it. And, truth be told, he missed Jackson, even if it was just a little. So instead he just replied with,

_**SS: Yeah, should be there in a few minutes.** _

He pocketed his phone and took the keys from the ignition before he stepped out of the jeep, locking it behind him. The street did seem to be deserted and relatively safe, but there was no reason to tempt fate.

He walked in through the door and before he could ask for directions to the dive bar Scott and the others were at a blonde with red lips and an impressive set of breast stepped in front of him.

“What’s your poison batman?” She asked in a sultry voice.

Stiles looked at her a bit confused and she pointed a single finger with a pointy nail that matched her cherry red lips to his shirt, had Stiles known he’d be making a surpeise pitstop at a stripclub he would have foregone the graphic tee that had sparked his friendship with Scott and worn his nicest pair of jeans, maybe the button down black shirt that Lydia had given him last Christmas and the new pair of converse under his bed. Instead he was sporting his favorite pair of jeans that were stylishly torned around the knees, an old faded black t-shirt with the 90’s batman insignia, and some worn out converse.

As if on reflex, Stiles answered,

“Gin and tonic.”

“Sorry, we don’t serve alcoholic drinks Caped Crusader.”

Stiles gave her an approving smirk at the switch and  emphasis she put behind the nickname of the DC superhero and answered,

“Mountain Dew?”

The blonde smiled, her cherry red lips stretching into something mischievous as she winked at him.

“Take a table, I’ll bring it over in a sec.”

She turned without another word and left Stiles floundering for a second.

He looked around the dim space and slipped into the nearest table a few feet away from the door and took in the room.

In contrast with the outside of the building, which had looked more deserted and rundown than anything else with the exception of the bright and working neon sign, the inside was stylish and clean, with dark polished tables that varied in size and accompanying chairs.

Along the wall to his left were circular booths, most of which were taken with groups of men and scanty dressed women. A large stage with a chrome pole in the middle and a narrow runway that  stretched to the middle of the room and divided the space in half, the end of the runway was circular and sported another vertical bar. Large comfortable looking chairs lined all sides of the stage and runway, where a pretty young dark haired thing, with a slim waist and long legs was twirling around to the sound of some ‘07 billboard hit.

Stiles drummed his fingers against the smooth table cursing everything in the universe but specially Scott, because it was due to his uneven jawed friend not being able to text him a simple address that Stiles was going to be singing and humming _Gimme More_ on loop in his head for the foreseeable future.

A few minutes later the blonde that had greeted Stiles at the door walked up beside him and placed a tall glass with the toxic green colored soda on the table along with a red napkin. Stiles moved to get out his wallet when the young woman stopped him and with a smile said,

“First drinks on the house, but there is a 2 drink minimum.”

“Right.” Stiles said as he dug around his wallet for a 20 dollar bill and handed it to the girl. “3 cokes for your favorite people in here.”

“That’s not how it usually works.” Said the blonde as she plucked the offered bill from Stiles hand.

“Well, um,” Stiles floundered a bit as he searched for a name tag pinned on the leopard print tube top she was wearing that left very little to the imagination, but didn’t find any.

“Erica.” She supplied tossing her hair back to reveal the skin of her right shoulder, smiling a wolfish grin that showcased pearly white teeth.

“Yes, well, Erica, I’m sure that I’m doing things out of the norm, but I actually just came in here hoping I could get some directions to Ray’s? I’m visiting some friends and one of the friends that i am visiting gives directions like a lost five year old. So, if you’d be so kind as to direct me to where I’m supposed to go, I will be out of your hair.”

“I don’t know  how to get there personally, but someone in here has to know. I’ll see what I can do for you. In the meantime, want any company?”

“Sure.”

“What’s your type?” she said, resting her free hand on her cocked hip, bringing Stiles attention to her waist, the curve of her hip and how it flowed seamlessly into her thigh and further down into her  leg. Stiles cleared his throat and looked back up to her face and with an apologetic smile said,

“Tall, chiseled, and 6 inches.”

Stiles noticed how Erica deflated a bit, the slight slump of her exposed shoulder and dimming of the wicked light in her eyes. She gave him a nod, turned on her heel and walked away with a teasing sway in her hips, hair and other bits bouncing with every step that she took.

Stiles waited, his leg bouncing under the table as he fiddled with his phone, wondering if he should shoot a text to Scott telling him that he was lost and was waiting on directions or go with a lie, something generic like ‘ _I’m stuck in traffic_ ’. Before he could decide Erica came back into his periphery.

“If you can hang out for a few minutes, one of the guys can give you directions to Rays.” She said, handing him a folded stack of singles and a couple of quarters. Stiles quickly freed four bills and handed them to her. With a wicked grin, Erica took the bills and stuffed them into the nook between her breasts, bent down and pressed cherry lips to his cheek and whispered silkily into his ear. “Thanks handsome.” Then straighten up and walked away towards another table with the same flirty and enticing walk from before.

Resigned at being stuck for the moment at The Wolf Den, Stiles opens up Scott’s message thread and taps out an honest reply.

_**SS: Got lost, getting directions to Rays.** _

He was about the press send when the room went completely dark and the music that had been a constant background noise shifted to the beginnings of something sultrier, the lights on the stage came to life and centered on a single spot where a perfectly sculpted body sauntered over clad in only a pair of dark fitted pants. From where Stiles was sitting, they looked amazing, hugging toned thighs and emphasizing an ass that Stiles was sure he could bounce a quarter off of if given the chance. It was a miracle that Stiles was able to tear his eyes away from his ass, thighs, arms, and back to notice that the perfect male specimen that was moving along with the beat of the music had a jet black hair and serious case of day’s old stubble with a fine dusting of dark hair on his arms and chest. He would have thought that the scruff and body hair would put him off but it only added to the man’s appeal.

The music picked up as the vocals started and the man’s hips swayed in time with the rhythm that poured out of the speakers; popping his hips from side to side when the song that was playing demanded as such, followed by fast and lascivious gyrations of said hips. The dancer then took a few steps back and pressed up against the pole that Stiles had all but forgotten. He dipped low and rose up slowly, his hips circling slowly as he brought himself back up. He dropped himself again with the added difference of going to drop to his knees, leaning back and slowly thrusting the empty space in front of him, his hands trailing from his chest to the sinfully low rise of his pants. He played a little with the treasure trail Stiles was sure was there, even if he couldn’t clearly see it. his hand slipped under the waistband of his pants and he threw his head back and what Stiles could only identify as euphoria.

In that moment, Stiles thought he understood the appeal of strip clubs; it wasn’t so much the girls, and in this case guy, who walked around in the skimpiest outfits or outright naked though that certainly played a major part, but it was seeing them give themselves over completely to what they were doing up on the stage, dancing to entice lust and fuel fantasies. Both of which were happening to Stiles at the moment.

Money, money could also play a part in it. said a voice in the back of his head as he continued to watch the dancer on the stage.

He was still on his knees and working his hips to the beat of the song that played in the background, the button and zipper of his pants were undone and Stiles was barely able to make out the elastic of his underwear. He shimmied as he stood back up and worked his muscular legs out of his pants and the sight was enough to convince Stiles that he was having a religious experience. The underwear were the filthiest piece of clothing Stiles had ever seen, not because they were soiled, but because they looked like they had been painted on the dancer. And he would believe they had been if not for the impressive and mouthwatering bulge clad in fiery red with a black trim. But that was nothing compared to the feeling that surged through him when the nameless dancer took hold of the pole and pulled himself up and wrapped his legs around it when he was halfway off the ground and leaned away until his torso was upside down.

It took all the mental capacity Stiles had to will away the hard-on that was making his jeans feel too tight; something that proved to be a continuous battle as he watched the dark haired man swirl, climb, drop and thrusts against the chrome bar. Stiles was ready to give up and resign himself to creaming his pants like a high school freshman during his first hot and heavy make out session due to the way the dancer was sprawled out on the floor. His legs were far apart and he was thrusting his hips in a way that could be interpreted as him fucking up into someone or him fucking himself down on someone and it was too much. He had wanted to wait until the dancers switched not because he was afraid someone would notice how much the male dancer had affected him but because he wanted to catch the ending. He was morbidly curious as to how the guy was going to finish his performance. He wondered if he was going to twirl around the pole again, drop and pop his hips with his back towards his spectators so that everyone could see how his ass bounced or maybe grind against the stage floor or against the pole.

Instead, Stile downed his, until then forgotten, Mountain Dew and made his way to the restrooms, forever grateful that the room was too dark for anyone to notice his straining erection but still tugging his shirt down and over it to cover what he could.

He walked as quickly as he could while trying to maintain a sense of ease and trying to ignore the painful way his jeans dug into his too sensitive dick or scrunch up his face at the dampness of his boxers. When he was in the restroom, he rushed into the nearest stall, locked the door behind him, undid his jeans and pulled out his sticky dick. He licked his hand, laving it up generously before beginning to pump his dick.

He knew he wasn’t going to last long, so he didn’t bother teasing the head or rolling his balls in his free hand, instead he bunched up the front of his shirt and put it in his mouth as a makeshift gag. Despite the loud music from the main room that was filtering in through the walls of the restroom, he didn’t want to tempt fate and have someone walk in on him mid moan.

He couldn’t stop the images that flooded his mind though; strong legs straddling his thighs, a thick cock slick with precum sliding against his own dick, or images of his inner thighs a delicious shade of pink with stubble burn.

A handful of pumps later, he felt the familiar tension in his balls and the coil in his lower abdomen and aimed his dick toward the toilet just in time for him to shoot into the waiting water as his climax ripped through him. When he rung the last of it from the head of his dick he let himself fall against the diving board. The cool metal felt great on his overheated skin. He unclenched his mouth and let his shirt fall from between his teeth, doing a half haphazard job of cleaning his hand and overly damp boxers as he waited the few minutes for his dick to completely deflate. When his dick is completely soft, he tucks himself back into his jeans and boxers, wincing slightly as the front of his boxers still felt a little too wet against his dick.

He walks over to one of the two sinks and washed his hands, drying them on the legs of his jeans before walking back out and to the table he had taken. He slides into his chair and notices that while he had been in the restroom, the dancers had changed. Instead of the dark haired and chiseled specimen that had made Stiles revert to a teenage virgin watching his first ever porn video, there was a voluptuous dark skinned beauty with bouncy black hair swirling and twirling around the pole to the tune of something as equally sensual as her.

Stiles saw the dancer slide down the pole to land expertly on her knees, her back to the audience as she bounced her hips making the globes of her ass jiggle when someone slid into the chair next to him. When Stiles managed to tear his eyes away from the dancer, he quickly wished he hadn’t. Sitting in the chair next to him, no more than 10 inches away, was the reason Stiles narrowly escaped having blue balls for the remainder of his weekend in town.

“Erica said you needed directions to Rays?”

The voice that came out of his mouth caught Stiles off guard; he had expected something deeper, gruffer, with a slight smoothness around the edges.

Instead it was a pleasant  light tenor with a bit of breathiness at the end his sentence, Stiles mind immediately raced with thoughts of what the man’s voice would sound like after he’d given Stiles a slow and filthy blowjob, moaning and screaming Stiles’ name until his vocal chords were raw.  

“You alright there batman?” asked the dancer, eyes squinting in the dimmed room

“Batman?”

“Erica said you liked to be called batman.” He said matter of fact as he took a sip of the tall glass of coke.

“Really?” asked Stiles, looking behind the sculpted piece of art made flesh to find the blonde. She was busy, talking animatedly with a group of men a few steps from the door, her cherry red lips pulled into a flirty smile. “What else did Erica say?” he asked as he gave her a fruitless glare.

“Tall, chiseled, and 6 inches.”

That made Stiles snap his attention back to the man next to him, the urge of wanting the ground to open up and swallow him diminished when he noticed the small quirk of the man’s lips.

Stiles searched his brain for something witty to say, but his mind was a complete blank.

“Would you be willing to deviate from that 6?”

“There is no way you are anything under 6, not with the way you’re sporting that bulge.” Stiles blurted out before he could stop himself.

The guy only gave him a smug and knowing smile.

Before Stiles could say anything, his phone pinged and vibrated in his pocket, startling him and making him flail slightly.

“Sorry.” Stiles muttered as he tried to free his phone from his jeans pocket. He pressed the power button and the screen came to life, light bright and unforgiving against his eyes, and saw the notification of a new message from Scott. He swiped at the screen and opened Scott’s message thread.

**_SM: DUDE WHERE ARE YOU? EVERYONE IS WORRIED! PLEASE TELL ME YOU DIDN’T CRASH INTO A TREE AGAIN. YOUR DAD WILL NEVER LET ME HEAR THE END OF IT._ **

Stiles looked up at the previous message from Scott, and saw that he had never actually sent the message he had typed up when his attention had been stolen away from his phone to the stage by the fine male model next to him. He looked at the time stamp from said message and groaned internally, it had been 20 minutes since Scott’s last text, he retyped the message from before, and pressed send.

He looked back up as he stuffed his phone back into his pocket.

“Sorry about that, my friend, Scott, was or is freaking out. He thinks I’ve probably crashed into a tree.”

“It’s ok.” He said and took another drink from his coke. Stiles will never admit that he tracked and watched enraptured at how his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed the carbonated drink and, for a second, imagined that, instead of the soda, he was swallowing Stiles’ cum after he deep throated him, coaxing out his orgasm with a skillful mouth and tongue.

“…you take a right at the end of the street and it’s the first building on the corner to your left.”

Stiles eyes snapped up as the man’s words broke through his fantasy haze.

“Sorry, could you, um…”

Stiles hated how flustered his voice sounded, he was honestly wondering if there wasn’t some sort of time portal at the door that scrambled his brain and switched it with a version of his younger self.

The man smirked and Stiles was inclined to imagine that the bastard knew exactly the effect he was having on him. This time, as he explained the directions, Stiles listened carefully while looking at the man’s impressive eyebrows. They were distracting in the way that they shifted and quirked every so often as the man spoke but they were much less distracting than anything else on the guys body. Then again, that could be due to Stiles not being able to think of something sexual to do the them or have something sexual done to him by them.

“Thanks man, you just did me a solid.” Stiles said when the dark haired dancer was done and Stiles was sure he’d be able to follow his directions to the bar his friends were waiting for him.

He pulled out the folded stack of singles from his pocket and freed a few bills.

“I, um, for your troubles…” Stiles stammered as he held out the crumpled dollars to the dancer, who quirked one of his eyebrows and looked down at the elastic of his sinfully tight underwear.

Of course. Of-fucking-course. Stiles thought as he lowered his hand and slipped the bills between muscular taut skin and the black elastic of the extremely tight red and black trunks.

Stiles brain short-circuited when the dark haired dancer slowly thrust his hips upwards, the bulge Stiles had been salivating for pressed into his palm and, to his never-ending frustration, wasn’t completely soft.

He squeaked out a final thanks as he retracted his hand, the guy only smiling and nodding as he took another pull off his soda.

Stiles excused himself, stood up and walked away on shaky legs and headed towards the door, his dick making a valiant effort to come back to life at the thought of the dancers harden cock in his hand. Before he could reach the door and walk outside he was intercepted by Erica who pressed a piece of paper to his chest. Stiles instinctively raised his hand and took the piece of paper in his hand.

“Hope you visit us again soon Dark Knight and bring your friends.” She said before giving him a wink and moving out of his way and going back to the bar, picking up her tray loaded with drinks and sashayed her way to a waiting table.

He walked out the door and over to his jeep, opening the door and slipping behind the wheel on autopilot. After his brain rebooted completely, he looked at the paper Erica has handed him. It was glossy and thick but that was all he could see inside the darkened car. He pushed his key into the ignition and turned the starter, flipping on the overhead light.

The flyer wasn’t anything like the ones he had seen before. Instead of having pictures of women in enticing costumes or guys in artfully ripped jeans and bare chested, it had a dark background with smoke around the top and bottom edges at the center, as if materializing out of the dark background was a wolfs head with sharp and intelligent looking electric blue eyes. The Wolf Den was written in black and outlined in a deep smoky blue. In smaller letters at the top were the words Come join us at and under it the line hot shows all summer long. At the lower left corner was ‘Door opens at 5pm.’ followed by the day-by-day schedule. On the opposite corner the promise of ‘First drinks on the house’ along with the address and contact information.

Curiosity made Stiles turn the promotional piece of paper over and written in silver sharpie in neat print was:

His name is Derek. He works Friday-Sunday from 10:30-2AM.

Stiles gave an amused huff and stuffed the flyer in his pocket and made a mental note to convince his friends with every possible trick he knew, to come with him the following night.

He would return to The Wolf Den during his weekend break to get a proper lap dance from Derek, even if it killed him.


End file.
